Longing
by KissingChaos
Summary: Ryan-Seth slash. Ryan relfects on what he left behind.
1. Ryan misses emo

Disclaimer: I don't own _The O.C_., but my best friend's boyfriend does. She's also the best beta ever.

So, yeah, also, it says very plainly in the summary line that it's Ryan/Seth slash, but just in case, IT'S SLASH. If that's not your bag, and you still read, don't blame me, okay?

* * *

Ryan misses emo. Arturo and all his friends listen to rap, or old school metal. Teresa's mother listens to Elvis. A lot. Teresa doesn't listen to music much, but when she does, it's usually top 40.

The guy behind the counter at the CD store looked at Ryan like he was on crack when he asked if they had any Death Cab. "What, that's a band name? Yeah, we don't have none of that." He thought better than to ask about The Postal Service or Bright Eyes.

He hadn't really noticed how much information he had absorbed from Seth's rambling about music. He wants to hear "Passenger Seat." He wants to hear "Nothing Better." He wants to hear white guys with guitars, songs with lyrics like poetry. He hums now, quietly, at work. No one can hear him, anyway.

He doesn't have any of the CDs Seth made him. When he was packing, it seemed wrong to take anything back to Chino that he hadn't brought into Newport with him. Most of his clothes, his laptop, his iPod—he left it all behind. He was pretty sure he wouldn't need it anymore. He wishes now, though, that he had kept the CDs.

He borrows Teresa's car. He tells her he's going to run some errands. He thinks about turning around a dozen times during the drive, but he heads straight to Been Around Records. He walks around aimlessly for a little while, flipping through CDs, and he thinks that if CDs had a smell, it would remind him of Seth. There's a used copy of _Transatlanticism_. He grabs it, and copy of _Give Up_.

The guy at the counter is the same guy that was always there when he came with Seth. This would be the perfect job for Seth. Sitting behind a counter, reading comic books, educating new customers on the subtle but vast differences between the lyrical styles of Ben Gibbard and Conor Oberst. Ryan wonders when he learned the names.

The guy smiles at Ryan, one of those "I remember you, you used to come in here all the time" smiles. Ryan tries to smile back. "Good stuff," he says. Ryan nods. "Have you heard these before?" Ryan nods again. Yeah. I've heard them all a hundred times. I need to hear them again.

He stops in an empty parking lot halfway between Chino and Newport, unwrapping one of the CDs and skipping ahead to number eight. He turns the volume up until the speakers reverberate and closes his eyes, resting his forehead against the steering wheel.


	2. Ryan misses the poolhouse

Ryan misses the poolhouse.

Not the abstract 'living in Newport' idea. The literal building. He misses having his own space. He misses the king size bed and the 800-thread count sheets. He misses the huge shower with the five-setting massage head. He misses the seemingly endless supply of clean towels. He misses being able to get up in the middle of the night and get something to drink without waking anyone.

Most of all, he misses being able to look around during the quiet times before he falls asleep and see memories of Seth.

The room is stifling. Ryan's skin is too tight, prickled by the heat rising in waves from the bed. His boxers are clinging to him as he slips on his cargo shorts and walks quietly into the kitchen. There's Mountain Dew in the fridge, and Ryan wonders what it means when soft drinks remind you of someone.

He grabs on, because, really, at this point who cares about caffeine? If he opens the screen door to the point right before it creaks, there is just enough room for him to slip silently into the darkness. The streetlight is out, but there's enough moonlight for Ryan to cross the backyard and sink into an old lawn chair.

Ryan thinks that if he had a calendar and a little bit of time, he could pretty accurately calculate the number of hours he and Seth had spent in the poolhouse. Three or four hours a night, at least two nights a week, for what? A year? Eleven months, at least. 384 hours. The lack of hours spent together during at the beginning of his relationship with Marissa, or Seth's with Summer, cancelled out the two weeks straight that Ryan and Seth stayed up till at least two in the morning during a Playstation binge, or the two all-nighters they pulled right before winter finals.

Ryan's been replaying certain scenes with Seth since he got back to Chino. Drunk Seth performing kung fu on the futon. Seth lamenting the lack of Seth/Ryan time. Seth and his twelve page agenda for Tiajuana and that damn sombrero. Seth wrapping Chrismukkah presents. Seth curled up, resting his eyes while he and Luke looked for Marissa. Seth trying to figure out what to do while Ryan was at work. He wonders, now, how the novel is coming. If Seth took his Talmud on the boat.

He tries not to think too much about why, but somehow reliving these moments on nights like these, when Chino and the heat are oppressive…it makes him calmer. Cooler. Somehow, remembering Seth means remembering home, and it's almost like he never left.

Almost.


	3. Ryan misses takeout

Ryan misses take-out.

Teresa's mother cooks every night, for more people than Ryan has ever seen in the house. There's always a plate waiting for him in the oven when he gets home, usually later than he can justify. Empanadas, rice, chicken, piles of tomatoes with onions and peppers. Ryan's never hungry, but he eats now, because it makes Teresa will worry less and she won't have to look at him, frowning with her brow furrowed, when she finds his plate still full every morning.

Just once, though, Ryan wishes he would walk into the kitchen and see something taking something out of a box or bag. He misses Chinese, lo mein and moo shoo pork. He wants to use chopsticks. He misses lasagna, and baked chicken with shiitake mushrooms, and poached salmon with tarragon. He would even settle for a crab-and-brie fillo puffs. He misses the scrape of plastic lids against styrofoam containers. He misses joking about Kirsten's cooking, sitting around the table laughing. He misses sitting beside Seth, sharing amused glances when Sandy compliments the chef.

It's Sunday morning, and Teresa and her mother are at Mass. Arturo hasn't been home all weekend, and so for one hour, Ryan has the house all to himself. He's decided to make an omelet, with spinach and mushrooms and feta cheese, like the ones they serve at the café down the street from Harbor.

The corner store doesn't have any feta cheese, but Ryan figures he can improvise. He grabs mozzarella, cheddar, and baby Swiss. There's no spinach, either—well, no fresh spinach—so he decides to go with tomatoes instead. He grabs a loaf of bread, too, and some orange juice, and piles everything in his backpack, bread on top, before biking home.

He gathers his ingredients on the counter and tries not to think about the bright, sunny kitchen in Newport. He dices the tomatoes and tries not to think about Thanksgiving and cranberries and solemn promises. He mixes the eggs with a fork, not a whisk, and tries not to remember teaching Seth how to make the perfect omelet that morning when they made breakfast in bed for Kirsten and Sandy's anniversary, even though Seth refused to actually serve the breakfast in bed, because, ew. He adds the cheese liberally, waiting for the sides to begin to congeal, and tries to pretend that he doesn't miss home so much he can't breathe. He makes whole-wheat toast and pours a big glass of orange juice and eats in silence, trying not to realize that all the things he misses about home are inextricably linked to Seth.

He tries not to think that what he really misses, the most, is just Seth.


	4. Ryan misses Playstation

Ryan misses Playstation.

Arturo has an Xbox with a ton of football games, and even a hockey game. But there's no Gran Turismo. No Grand Theft Auto. No ninjas. When Arturo's friends ask him if he wants to play, he remembers Luke and his gay dad, and suppresses a small grin and says 'no thanks.' They don't play in their pajamas, anyway, and they're out of cereal.

He misses getting killed by Sandy's ninjas. He misses laughing at Summer trying to steal a car, pretending not to notice the glint in her eyes when she asked him for help, since he's the resident expert in all things related to auto theft and all. He misses walking into the house on Saturday mornings and seeing two bowls set out on the island, cereal poured, Seth leafing through a comic and waiting patiently.

He misses sitting in the floor of the living room next to Seth, their backs against the couch. He misses Seth's incessant babbling and ineffective taunts. He misses the surprised look in Seth's eyes every time he loses. He misses the way their hands would touch briefly when they both reached for the popcorn or the Captain Crunch at the same time. He misses the way Seth would flail his arms wildly after a particularly difficult victory. He misses the way Seth's thigh would rest against his, their knees touching, and neither of them would move away, and when they did, Ryan's ears were still tinged with red.

He tries to play Madden 2004, but the analog controls are in the wrong place, and he hates the fucking football games anyway, so he's just staring at the controller in his hand, trying not to remember how Seth looked when he asked if he wanted to play that first morning in Newport.

He wonders why neither of them ever moved their legs. He wonders if Seth noticed the heat, the way Ryan's muscles tensed and relaxed every time Seth moved away, then back again.

He's sitting in the backyard again, smoking. He's wondering where they would be on that Pancake Tour if he hadn't hidden in the model home. He wonders how far they would've gotten if he had let Seth come with him, if they'd be in Austin together, instead of Chino and some undetermined place on the ocean.

He wonders why it's taken this long to realize that Seth was willing to leave everything just to be with him after only knowing him for a weekend. He wonders why it's taken this long to figure out why it was so hard to leave Seth after only knowing him for a year, when he left Chino without a thought.


	5. Ryan misses Seth

Ryan misses Seth.

That's what it comes down to, really. The Death Cab, the omelet, the Playstation. He misses listening to Death Cab with Seth. He misses getting up early and grabbing breakfast with Seth. He misses sitting, talking, playing, being with Seth.

He misses the rambling. He misses the sarcasm. He misses laughing until his stomach hurts and his cheeks are sore. He misses Obscure Movie Night. He misses Seth/Ryan time.

It's not that he doesn't miss anything else in Newport. There's not a lot about Newport that he doesn't miss. Marissa, maybe, and that doesn't surprise him as much as he thinks it should. Not as much as the fact that it's Seth's face he wants to see, Seth's voice he wants to hear.

Seth that he's in love with.

The realization is not a lightning bolt, but a slow-moving storm front. He's been piecing together elements of longing, waiting for the rain.

=====

Ryan takes the stairs two at a time. His head is spinning, and he raises and lowers his fist three times before knocking softly.

When Seth opens the door, the first thing Ryan notices is the red tint in his cheeks and across the bridge of his nose. His hair is shorter, his curls almost gone, and he seems taller. There are circles under his eyes, and he's definitely thinner, but he's the most amazing thing Ryan has ever seen.

"Ryan. Wow. Hey. Hey!"

Seth pulls him into a quick hug before Ryan can even gets his hands out of his pockets, and he's relieved. The tightness in his chest loosens, and he takes a deep breath.

"Wow. What are you doing here? My parents aren't here, they're at my grandpa's house. I should call them, they'll be upset if they miss you." Seth turns and walks back inside the house and Ryan follows quickly, grabbing Seth's elbow.

"Seth."

It's the first time he's said his name aloud in three months. When he spoke with Kirsten and Sandy, he never asked before they offered information. He says it again, breathing the hiss. "Seth."

Seth turns, his eyes on Ryan's hand on his elbow. "Ry?"

Ryan moves his hand quickly, shoving it back into his pocket. "I just--can I talk to you for a minute?"

Seth's face changes, almost imperceptibly, and he takes a step back. "Will there be yelling? Because there's been a lot of yelling here at Casa Cohen lately, and I don't think I can take anymore. I've got quite enough assholes to last me the rest of my days, thanks."

Ryan's upper lip curls into a small smile, and he shakes his head. "No yelling."

Seth's shoulders loosen. "Okay, great. Wanna go into the living room? Or, you know, we can hang here in the foyer. Whatever."

Ryan walks wordlessly into the living room, and he hears Seth follow him. He sits down on the couch, and really, in all his planning on the drive up here, this was pretty much as far as he had gotten, because in every imaginary scenario he could come up with, Seth either slammed the door in his face, or there had been some mistake and Seth wasn't home, or Ryan couldn't see him. So he has no plan.

Seth sits beside him and turns towards him, frowning. "Are you okay?"

"I bought a Death Cab CD."

"Huh?"

Ryan smiles, at himself more than anything. "I bought a Death Cab CD. The Postal Service, too, actually. I missed your music."

Seth laughs, almost. "I thought you hated my music. You always make that face."

"I don't hate it. I just didn't get it. I get it now." Ryan leans back into the couch and pulls a pillow into his lap. He stares at the paused image on the television, and unconsciously reaches forward and picks up the controller.

"I can restart the game if you want. If you wanna play."

Ryan runs his fingers over the X, the O. The unbeatable combination. He smiles again. "I missed Playstation," he whispers.

"What?"

"I missed you." Ryan looks up quickly, because that isn't what he intended to say. He wanted to tell Seth about the Xbox and the omelet. He wanted Seth to understand that he was the core, that everything came back to him, and he wanted Seth to know what that meant without Ryan having to actually tell him, because it would be easier that way, and he just wanted something about this to be easy.

Seth's eyes crease at the edges, and he reaches out and takes the controller from Ryan. He sets it back on the coffee table, and stares at the screen. "I'm sorry."

Ryan clears his throat. "Me, too."

"Seth, I—" Ryan begins, just as Seth says "Ryan, I—" and they look at each other again, and Seth grins. Ryan's heart does a weird flip-flop thing, and he knows that if he doesn't tell Seth what he came all this way to tell him, he'll kick himself all the way back to Chino and well into the future, so he takes a deep breath and starts again.

"I missed you."

"You mentioned that." Seth pulls his leg onto the couch, and his shin is pressing against Ryan's thigh and Ryan closes his eyes for a second, enjoying the warmth. He reaches over and tugs a thread from the hem of Seth's pants, resting his hand on Seth's ankle.

Seth touches Ryan's wrist. "I missed you, too," he says quietly, trailing a fingertip across Ryan's wristbone before folding his hands in his lap. When Ryan looks up, Seth is watching him, his eyes still clouded. "I'm here now. I came home." Seth's voice is even, and Ryan knows that the rest of that sentence is I "When will you come home?" I But Seth won't ask, and Ryan is glad because he doesn't know the answer.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Ryan never moving his hand. When Seth's need to fidget finally overtakes him, he shifts on the couch and starts to move his leg, but Ryan grabs his ankle. Seth freezes, arm on the back of the couch, and the both stare at Ryan's hand on his leg.

Ryan feels Seth's eyes move to his face, but he can't look away from his hand and Seth's ankle. Tears burn behind his eyes, and he closes them, biting the inside of his cheek.

Seth's fingertips on his temple are soft, barely there. Ryan squeezes his eyes closed, and the back of Seth's fingers brush against his cheek. He loosens his grip on Seth's ankle, resting his forearm on Seth's leg, and when Seth brushes the hair off his forehead, he leans into Seth's hand, his chest tightening. 

"I missed you," he whispers again, eyes still closed.

Seth's leg shifts but doesn't move, and when Ryan opens his eyes, their noses are inches apart and Seth's eyes are glossy. He closes his eyes again quickly, moving his head forward slightly, and when their lips meet, Seth curls his fingers into Ryan's hair and Ryan digs his fingers into Seth's calf.


End file.
